


Abnormally Sized Monsters

by shewho



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies), Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, M/M, Oh My God, WTF, What Was I Thinking?, enjoy, in like four hours, mostly because i was watching boondock saints yesterday and was like "omfg best jaeger team ever", so I wrote this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 12:00:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewho/pseuds/shewho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It is your evil that will be sought by us."</p><p>"With every breath, we shall hunt them down."</p><p>Twins were nature’s way of making clones.</p><p>The jaeger program couldn’t have asked for anything better than the MacManus brothers.</p><p>Well, perhaps pilots who weren’t so inclined to swear…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abnormally Sized Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god I just wanted Murph and Conn to pilot a jaeger because seriously they'd be the best ever and then this happened like what...?
> 
> many apostrophes were harmed in the making of this fic.
> 
> also, MacManus Mouths.

                Murphy gasped into Connor’s mouth, and the blonde laughed as he repositioned himself in his brother’s lap.

                “So what d’ye think it’s about?” he asked, kissing across his brother’s chin and down over his neck, fixing his mouth to a spot low on his neck, sucking and biting at that one spot until Murph was whining, hips flexing up into his twin’s body with each suck. Laughing, Connor pulled away, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand and poking at the purple-red mark he’d left on Murphy’s throat with the other. “Oi, Murph. What’s it about, d’ye think?” he prompted.

                His twin’s icy blue eyes snapped open. “What’s what about?” he asked, sounding sort of confused.

                “What’s what about?” Connor repeated, laughing. “C’mon, wake up, ye idiot.”

                “Oh, _I’m_ an idiot? Yer a fuckin’ idiot, Conn.”

                “No, _ye_ are. Ye fergot we have a meetin’ wi’ th’Marshall in,” he twisted his arm to look at his watch, “’Bout an hour.”

                Murphy rolled his eyes. “Who cares?” He tugged Connor’s body back down to his own. “Fuck Smecker!” Then he froze with sudden realization. “Wait. Conn…did ye just give me a hickey?” he asked, sitting up and pushing his brother away. His hand went to his still-wet neck and he winced as he probed the spot. “Connor! We’ve got a meetin’ wi’th’Marshall, IN A FUCKIN’ HOUR!” he yelled, rushing to the mirror permanently fixed to the wall of their tiny shared bathroom and examining the darkening bruise blooming on his neck. “Fuck!” he swore loudly.

                Connor sprawled spread-eagled across the bed—nobody loved taking up space more than he did—laughing hysterically. “Yer a grown man! I’m yer brother; I think I’m _allowed_ t’give ye a hickey!”

                Murphy turned to glare at his brother, “Oh, so does that mean I get t’give _ye_ one? That’d be grand, huh Conn? Ye showing up for briefing wi’ a great big ass hickey on yer neck!” 

                Connor barely had time to do more than turn over before Murphy launched himself at his twin from halfway across the room. “Murph! No!” he yelped, trying to fight him off but Murphy was strong, at least as big and as strong as he was. He wrestled Connor to the bed, pinning him down, and setting his teeth against Connor’s neck. Connor froze, his breath coming in quick hard pants. “Murph…?” he pleaded.

                “That was yer one free pass. Got it?” Murphy whispered directly in his ear. Connor nodded, his head bobbing wildly. “No. Visible. Hickeys!”

                After a minute or two, Connor sighed, heaving himself up from under his brother. “Nothin’ to it but t’do it. We’d better get goin’; ye know Smecker’ll  have our arses if we’re late again.”

                “Aye,” he replied, standing up and pulling on his standard-issue pants in one smooth, practice motion.  “Hand me a cancer stick, will ye?”

*

                Raleigh was practically vibrating in nervous anticipation as he and Yancy made their way to the main hanger. “Rals,” Yancy chided, smoothing a hand through his brother’s hair. “You gotta calm down. They’re just pilots.”

                “ _No_ , _Yance_ , you don’t _understand_. It’s the _MacManus brothers_.”

                Yancy rolled his eyes.

                In just two years, the MacManus twins had come out of the woodwork only-God-knows-where and risen to fame as one of the greatest jaeger teams in the United States, not to mention the world. They’d achieved a certain level of notoriety for their generally filthy mouths, as well as their crazy luck, holy-crap creativity, insane foresight, and eerie-good timing. They were known for being insubordinate, insolent, and not caring what anyone thought. It was said they had almost no manners, definitely no rules, and absolutely no cares about who they pissed off with their more-than-a-little-off-color humor.

                Despite all that, however, they still managed to be a hella-fun individuals that everyone in their Shatterdome wanted to hang out with. The members of their strikegroups, once over the initial shock, came to love them for these traits. At first, the two had gotten in trouble with their Marshall, Paul Smecker, for often bending and sometimes outright breaking rules. Eventually, however, they’d worn down the Marshall with their good nature and uncanny ability to drag themselves into and back out of not-completely-pleasant patrols and battles.

                And of course, there was the little fact that no one who hadn’t worked with them knew what they looked like, which only made their groupies more intrigued. The MacManus brothers were exceptionally good at staying out of the press and out of the limelight. Their pictures had never appeared in print, except for one of them—drivesuits and helmets still on—inside their jaeger, _Veritas Aequitas_.

                When the Becket brother stepped out of the elevator, they were greeted by loud laughter echoing inside the enormous metal and concrete room. Two guys—pilots, by the looks of them, one dark-haired and one sandy-blonde—shoved at each other jokingly as they stood slouching in front of a man that Raleigh and Yancy recognized easily as Marshall Smecker.

                “That must be _them_ , Yance!” Raleigh hissed, tugging at his older brother’s jacket sleeve.

                “Oh, aye,” the dark-haired one was saying as he shoved at the blonde one. “This’ll go grand, especially with Conn. A real people person, ye are.”

                “Oi,” the blonde one pushed his shades onto the top of his head as he dodged the other’s blow. “Wee ones love me.”

                “Hi!” Raleigh yelped, running towards the three men in the middle of the hanger. All three raised an eyebrow and stared at him.

                “Becket?” Smecker snapped.

                “Sir, I’m sorry, it’s just… _wow_. You must be the MacManuses. I’m Raleigh, Raleigh Becket, and that’s my big brother, Yancy, back there.” He stared at them, totally awestruck, “Wow.”

                Yancy finally reached the group and inspected the other pilots. The two were standing next to each other, practically close enough to be wearing one set of clothing, not two. This was not a new thing according to the gossip he had heard; the MacManus brothers had been like that since forever, always oddly close, touching one another more than was considered “normal”. Then again, having your brother in your head was intense enough to want him close by physically. Having your twin brother in your head must’ve been even more intense.

                “Look, haven’t ye got any manners at all?” the dark-haired one scolded his brother.

                “O’course not; look who I’m always with, all the time,” the blonde reported with a scoff. “I’m Connor,” he said to Raleigh, “And this is Murphy, who’d never say a polite word unless he was forced ta do so.”

                Murph’s pale eyes rolled so hard that it looked like he was trying to glare into his own brain. He threw another smack at Connor, “Don’t ye have anythin’ better t’do?”

                “No.”

                “Okay, gentlemen!” Smecker interrupted, rolling his eyes at the twins. “I’ve brought in the Beckets and _Gipsy Danger_ since we lost Duffy and Dolly and _Green Machine_ , and I expect you all to play nice together. Now be good, get to know your new strikegroup.” And he walked away.

                “So…,” Yancy began, his gaze falling to the writing tattooed on Connor’s hand. “Your kill streak…it’s pretty impressive, yeah? I think we’ll make a pretty good strikegroup.”

                Murphy chuckled darkly, “Oh, absolutely.”

                “What are ye, insane?” Connor added with a snort.

                The Becket brothers shared a confused sidelong glance.

                “There’s no _we_ anywhere in here. There’s _ye_ an’ _us_ and tha’s the end o’that.”

                “Yeah, yer part of our strikegroup,” Connor shrugged. “Tha means ‘stay the hell outta our way’.”

                “What?” Raleigh spluttered, echoing Yancy’s thoughts.

                “We’re sorta like 7-Eleven,” Murphy smirked. “We’re not always doin’ business, but we’re always open.”

                “That’s nicely put,” Connor murmured to his brother.

                “What we’re sayin’ here, boys,” Murphy sighed, “Is this.”

                Connor grinned, “If ye want t’kill kaiju, ye’ll just have t’get in line.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is pretty terrible, I am so sorry (I may go back and write a better version with like actual plot or something like that)


End file.
